Wicked Game

by Matt Johnson

  The smile returned to Kevin’s face. ‘Fuck that. What used to scare me was one of you bloody Ruperts saying “based on my experience” …’

  ‘Or when I unfolded a map?’

  We laughed. They were old jokes, the product of a relationship between officers and soldiers that had produced many a gag. Winding each other up, having a crack, telling a joke. It all helped to deal with the fear.

  Kevin threw his arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze.

  Together, as friends, we headed out of the park.

  Chapter 48

  The late-turn shift started quietly.

  As the lads were heading off onto the streets, I had to go to a meeting with the local street robbery squad at which assignments and tasking were being decided for the next week. My guys were going to be on a day shift so we had to be given a job.

  It was decided that we would do some uniform patrols in the Dalston Market area and a Sergeant with some PCs would run an observation on the market cash dispensers. Several times in the previous week people had been robbed after collecting money from the hole in the wall. The robbery squad reckoned a same small group was responsible for all the attacks.

  The man running the meeting was the Detective Chief Inspector. If he knew, he made no mention of the Special Branch and Anti-Terrorist Squad observation on the Nightingale Estate. Sometimes, specialist departments like SB thought that local officers shouldn’t be trusted with that kind of sensitive information. In truth, the shooting of PCs Evans and Manning showed it was the local boys who ran the greatest risks – they could walk into terrorists when they least expected it. They were the people who really needed to know and it was they who were generally the last to be told.

  It was eight o’clock before I finished the day’s paperwork. With all that was going on, I still had to do reports on probationer constables, lost property and recommendations for driving courses. Paperwork had never been my greatest love and, at this time, it was distracting me from the plans I was trying to put together to protect my family.

  I’d been listening in to the radio as I worked. The officers out on the streets had had a busy day; as a result, by now, most of the Sergeants were in the station helping with prisoners. Only one was still out patrolling the streets. It was as well to have at least one supervisory officer out and about so the PCs had someone to call up for advice.

  Just as I was reaching the point of paperwork exhaustion, information came into the control room about a steaming gang operating in the area. It was another warm evening. There was a cultural festival taking place in a local street and a funfair was entertaining people in the local park. Everything had gone peacefully until now.

  Steamers were muggers of the worst kind. Using weight of numbers, maybe twenty or thirty lads would rush through a crowd spreading panic. Then they would snatch handbags, jewellery or anything else of value. Anyone who resisted would be punched, kicked or even stabbed so the robbers could get away.

  Just a few minutes after the warning about the steamers, a radio transmission came through that officers from a patrolling Territorial Support Group carrier had made a number of arrests. For once, it looked like the cops had come out on top. Prisoners and arresting officers were on their way to our custody suite.

  As I walked into the custody offices, Steve Clark, the Sergeant-posted Custody Officer looked up from his desk. His face told it all.

  ‘TSG have nicked seven, guv,’ he said. ‘I’ve already got eleven in.’

  I smiled. I knew that a superman with eight arms and two brains would struggle to cope with that many.

  ‘Don’t worry, Steve,’ I said. ‘I’ll book some of them in for you.’

  I was reading legal rights to the second of three prisoners when my mobile telephone rang. I had to leave a slightly perplexed PC with his arrest while I moved out of earshot to take the call. I found a quiet place in the small room used by the police surgeon.

  It was Monaghan.

  ‘Transport is sorted, but it has to be tonight.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘That’s bloody quick. Are the foxes at home?’

  ‘Just one in the den. Not sure which.’

  It was take it or leave it, if we were going to go ahead with my plan.

  I made a snap judgement. Monaghan agreed for the helicopter to pick us up at midnight.

  I returned to helping out in the custody office and for the next hour did my best to concentrate on doing the job I was paid to do. At a quarter to ten, I made it back to my office just as the night shift Inspector was arriving for work.

  Before handing over, I rang Jenny.

  As she answered I decided to pay back the joke she had cracked earlier. ‘The next time I catch hold of you I’m gonna shag the arse off you too,’ I said, doing my best not to laugh as I did so.

  ‘Hello, Robert. I presume you want to talk to Jennifer.’ The voice was hostile.

  It was Jenny’s mum. Oh shit! The voice had sounded so right. I had just presumed. Now I had serious egg on my face.

  As Jenny picked up the phone, I told her what had happened.

  She laughed. I laughed.

  Once again the tension of the moment was diffused. Jenny promised to apologise for me. We chatted, flirted, teased and laughed. I desperately wanted to tell her how much I adored her, but I didn’t. Not because I wasn’t feeling it but because I wanted to say it all face-to-face, with my arms around her.

  Jenny explained that her mother had assumed, as we feared, that I had caused the bruise to her face. She had given the story that a horse had done it, but it had been clear that her mother didn’t believe her. When this was all over, we were going to have some explaining to do. But for now, that would have to wait.

  I explained, as briefly as I could, that the fight against our would-be killers was about to start that night. She wouldn’t be hearing from me for a couple of days.

  As I put down the phone, I wondered if I would ever see her again.

  I shrugged the feeling off. I had to win.

  And I would win, for her … for Becky.

  Chapter 49

  Before leaving for home, I arranged to pick Kevin up from a car park near Epping Forest.

  He was waiting for me.

  If everything went to plan, the helicopter would drop us back near where Kevin had left his car. We would then use it to transfer our prisoner to the safe house, in Essex, where Kevin would start persuading him to tell us what we needed to know.

  We were in the large field behind my house when, at exactly midnight, I heard the familiar rotor beat of an approaching helicopter.

  ‘Sounds like a Sea King,’ said Kevin. ‘Nice and reliable and a good strong winch.’

  I shone my torch into the night sky to confirm our presence. ‘I wonder how he managed to arrange it?’ I asked.

  ‘Who gives a toss, so long as they get us out safely and can keep their mouths shut.’

  The heli was coming in quickly, so any further conversation was stifled by the downdraft. Within a couple of minutes of hearing the aircraft approach, we were in the air and on our way to East London.

  We didn’t speak to the crew, the noise of the wind and rotor blades saw to that, but it was clear from the hand signals and preparation that took place on our approach that they were used to working with Special Forces teams. To them, we were just another secret-service operation.

  As we headed towards the city, I watched the ground. Beneath us, people were going about their daily lives in complete ignorance of what was happening above them. At this late hour, most of them would be heading off to their beds.

  The darkness of the countryside, interspersed with narrow strips of street lighting, soon began to give way to the brighter and more complex conurbation of London. In a few minutes, we would be above our target. Sheltered in the flat, he wouldn’t be expecting an attack from above; he wouldn’t even hear our approach. And, yet, I still had that sense of foreboding that had been troubling me for some time.

&nb
sp; Perhaps it was those angels, the ones that Jenny placed so much store in. Perhaps, they were trying to warn me.

  I should have listened. Less than five minutes after setting down on the roof of Alma House, we were compromised.

  Our arrival went perfectly to plan. Within a minute of attaching the winch cable, we were down the two flights of stairs, through the flat door and had a Browning stuck up the sleeping terrorist’s nostrils. Quiet, efficient. No fuss. Hand signals and no words. Just like the old days.

  And just as Monaghan had predicted, the flat only contained one person. But it wasn’t Costello, the man that we really wanted, it was McGlinty.

  He offered little resistance. As soon as he saw our black kit, the young Irishman behaved as if he were facing the grim reaper himself. He was co-operative and obedient to our instructions. Not that everything went smoothly. Getting him into the straitjacket should have been easy. In fact, it proved a bit of a challenge, and a frustrating, even humorous episode followed due to Kevin and I having differing ideas on how actually to apply the device. But after some sweat, a bit of muttered swearing and even a little joke about dislocating shoulders, we had the jacket in place.

  I left Kevin with our trussed and gagged target and went to check all was clear. I carefully opened the door and took two silent steps onto the landing.

  My worst fear stood facing me. An SO19 specialist firearms officer, in black kit and holding an MP5 carbine had just arrived at the top of the staircase on the opposite side of the landing. Behind and below him, I saw another SO19 cop with a ballistic shield and a third with a shotgun.

  I froze.

  What the hell now, I thought.

  It was a situation I should have planned for but hadn’t.

  The leading officer stopped advancing and stared at me. I stared back. My heart was beating fast, my brain working faster. My vision seemed crisper and my mind clearer than it had in months.

  My nemesis was dressed in the latest body armour, ballistic helmet and respirator. I was wearing my kit from the 1980s. But I knew what he would be thinking – and that gave me an edge.

  To him, this was ‘blue-on-blue’ – another police team had got there beforehand.

  The situation was desperate, so I knew I was going to have to disappoint him. We needed to escape, and I needed to buy us some time.

  I raised the MP5 and fired.

  I aimed very carefully. More so than I had ever done before. Three quick rounds, one into the man’s armoured chest plates, two into the wall behind to scare the others. It would hurt but not kill.

  As the shots echoed down the staircase, I saw my target roll backwards down into the others. Amongst the panicked shouts, black-clad figures fell, dropping equipment and weapons as they clattered noisily down the concrete stairwell.

  Kevin must have heard the shots. He ran past me and was up the stairs like a jack-rabbit, even before I had time to start thinking about what I had done. Of McGlinty, there was no sign.

  For a moment I stood transfixed, as the significance of what I’d just done hit me. I felt sick, panicked. I was a cop. I’d just shot another cop. What the fuck was I going to do now? What if I’d misjudged the shot and killed him?

  I couldn’t wait to find out. I launched myself after Kevin. As I ran, I pressed the button on my chest transmitter to call the helicopter. There was no response. The operation had suddenly turned into a complete shit-storm.

  Racing up the last flight, I called the pilot again, still no reply. Then, in my headset, I heard Kevin’s voice as he did the same. His voice was angry and loud.

  As I reached the roof, I found out why. Instead of reaching upwards into the black sky, the cable that we had secured to the roof metal-work now hung uselessly over the wall and into the darkness below. The helicopter was gone.

  Kevin tore off his respirator. ‘What the fuck’s going on, boss?’

  ‘Christ, I wish I knew,’ I yelled. ‘They must have buggered off when they heard the shots.’

  ‘That’s bollocks! They’d never have heard anything from that height.’

  Kevin was right. We’d been dumped.

  At that moment, bursting from the open stairwell door came the sound of percussion grenades exploding on the landing below us.

  ‘Where’s that bloody chopper?’ I shouted into the radio.

  ‘Who gives a shit now, how the fuck are we gonna get off this roof?’ Kevin screamed.

  ‘Only one thing for it, old son,’ I said. ‘Down that cable. Same way as we got here.’

  I sounded brave, I wasn’t.

  ‘Right, I’m outta here, I hope the cable’s long enough. See you at the bottom.’

  Before he’d even finished speaking, Kevin was over the low roof wall and attaching his descender to the cable. In a moment he was gone.

  Turning to face the stairwell door, I fired a short, three-round burst down the stairs to discourage any rapid pursuit, slammed the door and then ran to the wall and latched on to the cable myself.

  I looked down. Big mistake. In that instant, I froze again.

  The eye glass in my respirator had misted over. The heat generated by my exertions must have caused it. I couldn’t see more than a few feet. Pulling the mask down around my neck, I sat on the low wall at the edge of the roof, ready to follow Kevin, but I was suddenly unable to. A wave of nausea hit me and I reached out to grip the metal parapet with my free hand.

  I was back in another place, another time. A day when I had attended the accidental death of a young woman who had fallen from just such a place. Only seventeen, she had been enjoying a party that had spilled over onto the roof of a similar block of flats. High on spliff and vodka, she had sat on a similar wall to rest. A moment later, she had lost balance, toppled over and fallen to the concrete below. The first time I had seen her was when I arrived at the roof to secure the scene and started interviewing the party goers. I had looked over the wall to the pavement below, where the poor girl was lying dead and bleeding, an ambulance crew going through the motions around her twisted lifeless body.

  The ambulance crew had referred to the young girl as ‘FUBAR’. It was a military acronym: ‘Fucked up beyond all recognition’. Sitting on this wall, I was facing the prospect of an identical fate.

  I clenched my fists and swore under my breath. If the cable was too short and I ended up ‘FUBAR’, lying next to Kevin, then we would have done the terrorists’ job for them.

  Kevin hadn’t shown the slightest hesitation or fear at making the descent. Despite what he had said at Regent’s Park, I knew that he still thrived on excitement. Making the instant decision to go down the rope without thinking too long about the danger was typical of him. I was more considered, which was why I was still seated on the wall, hands shaking and heart racing.

  A noise behind me brought me back to reality. The SO19 men had thrown a stun grenade at the roof door as a first step to opening it. In seconds it would be followed by another and then by a firearms officer with a ballistic shield to protect the men that followed. I had about five seconds to decide.

  With heart in mouth, I jumped.

  The locking brake screamed but worked well. Even though it had been almost twenty years since I had last experienced the thrill of a controlled descent, I found myself automatically adjusting my body position so that I could control my speed with one hand, leaving the other free to carry and fire a weapon.

  As I plunged past the windows of the flats, I imagined families sitting around the television, oblivious to what was going on outside. Then the terrible premonition of the cable falling short flashed again through my mind. Once more, I imagined myself spread-eagled on the ground, blood oozing from nose and mouth. I looked up. The roof had disappeared into the darkness.

  I steeled myself. What would happen, would happen. It was now too late to worry.

  The reassuring sound of the locking brake whining down the cable continued until my feet touched the ground. I bent over and whispered a little thank you.


  Kevin was standing waiting. ‘Where the fuck have you been?’ he hissed.

  I said nothing. I could feel my heart thumping, the pulse at my temple was powerful and fast. I had been very close to losing my nerve.

  Silently, we jogged away into the dark night. Working out what had gone wrong would have to wait. For now, we just had to escape.

  Chapter 50

  Grahamslaw slammed his office door. The thin walls shook with the force. He was never very good in the morning. On this particular occasion, he was livid.

  It was not yet six o’clock and around the room sat the heads of Special Branch and SO19, together with their operational team leaders.

  Tom Williams, the SB Commander, was the first to speak. ‘Look Bill, to clear the air, the fault is ours, we lost him … pure and simple. We were hoping…’

  ‘Just shut the fuck up for a moment, let me think!’ Grahamslaw drew a deep breath. The waiting policemen watched without uttering a word as he looked down at the surface of the desk and counted to twenty under his breath.

  Finally he looked up at their expectant faces. ‘Now, let me sort some things out. First, why didn’t we hit the house when all three were inside?’

  Commander Williams spoke again. ‘We had information that suggested they were on their way to plant another device, we wanted to catch them planting it.’

  ‘And exactly what do you mean by “We had information”, Tom?’

  ‘One of our observation points saw them put a suspect package in their car.’

  ‘So what happened then?’

  ‘Costello stayed in the car. McGlinty went back to the flat.’

  ‘So you allowed them time to split up?’

  ‘We couldn’t get the SO19 team into place in time. It seemed like the best compromise.’

  ‘And what about Hewitson? He seems to be a simple mule.’